


Key(s)

by windandthestars



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12447678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: She’s a royal pain in the ass.  She’s not literal royalty as far as he knows; she hasn’t thrown that in his face yet, so it’s hard to tell, but she is wealthy, obscenely so and that’s close enough for him.__Will is young MacKenzie's bodyguard (AU).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've climbed out from under a rock called Photoshop to offer you a couple of scenes from an AU that never really went anywhere.
> 
> No warnings, no spoilers.

She’s a royal pain in the ass. She’s not literal royalty as far as he knows; she hasn’t thrown that in his face yet, so it’s hard to tell, but she is wealthy, obscenely so and that’s close enough for him.

He’s already taken her out shopping and, memorably, tonight, out to the club. He had expected her to ditch him, or at least to try. He had anticipated needing to pull her down off the table or at minimum dragging her home in the small hours of the morning, but instead she’s spent much of the night yelling at him. Not yelling like she normally did, but yelling because he wouldn’t have heard her otherwise. She complained about the noise and the abundance of cheap alcohol. She complained about the guys who kept leering at her, but surprisingly, she mainly complained about being there in the first place. And that, more than anything was what made her a royal pain in the ass.

“Let’s go.” He yells back at her, head tilting toward the door, but she only frowns at him and turns her gaze back toward the open room before them.

“Daddy’s going to be pissed,” she mutters to herself as she leans across him, reaching for the glass of whiskey he had ordered for himself. He didn’t normally drink on the job. He didn’t normally let young women in his care drink, especially not when it’s his whiskey, but she is of age, just, and by this point she’s looking miserable enough for the both of them.

She downs the glass in slow determined gulps despite the way her eyes water. She coughs hoarsely at the end and hands him back the glass before wrapping her fingers around his arm, steadying herself.

“I think I’m drunk.”

She’s not. While she had just done away with a decent amount of whiskey for a girl her size she’d hardly had more than a sip of the martini she’d ordered.

He waves over the bartender, a feat he had insured earlier by slapping a hundred dollar bill down on the bar, and orders a couple of soft drinks and a plate of whatever grease covered crap this place is serving, if they even have a menu.

He’s in luck. They end up with a plate of fries and a glass of water along with the pair of cokes. She downs the water without complaint but the fries are a hard sell. He considers threatening to throw her over his shoulder and drag her out, but he settles on trying to convince her that fries still retain some merit as a vegetable.

She smiles at this and picks at the plate, laughing that shy laugh of hers while he sips his coke.

“Mother,” she starts to say and then shakes her head, popping another fry into her mouth with a triumphant grin. “It’s rather loud in here.” She raises her voice despite the fact they’re standing almost shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t understand-“

He reaches over and puts his hand on her shoulder. It’s impulsive and stupid but it gets her attention. “I have someplace better.”

Why she trusts him on this he’ll never know. MacKenzie isn’t fickle but she is unpredictable. Pissing off her mother, as he had figured, was the main agenda for the night. Showing up, drink in hand at a nightclub currently getting a lot of press might have been enough, but leaving just after 10pm, leaving early enough to be home in bed by midnight, wouldn’t add any fuel to the fire. If anything it would only foster plausible deniability. Leaving of her own free will, leaving when she had to know it wasn’t another nightclub he had in mind, that he didn’t understand.

He takes her to Milk & Roses. They close at midnight, but he’s hoping by then she’ll have worn herself out or at least be amenable to spending some time somewhere a little closer to home. He could have taken her there to begin with, there are a couple of places he likes that sit nestled away Uptown, but he figures it would be better if MacKenzie wasn’t spotted. She wasn’t drunk, or yelling at him incessantly, but the tabloids have never needed help inventing things before, and besides he figures it wouldn’t hurt to further her ruse, as long as no one saw her she could still be at the club.

The place is mostly deserted by the time they get there so he forgoes his usual insistence that she sit where he can keep an eye on her and lets her wander. He waffles a bit over the menu while she pours over the walls of books, eyes flitting occasionally over to a newspaper scattered across a table. She’s up on tip toes behind the bar reaching for something when he finally orders her the grilled peaches and a cup of tea. He could have asked her what she wanted but he’s still not entirely convinced she’s willing to stay. 

He’s ordering for himself, coffee, black, when MacKenzie wanders over to the worn leather couch at the back of the room. He’s been making sure to keep between her and the door but he relaxes now, letting his shoulders fall and his weight settle more easily on his feet.

She has the book cradled in one hand, held protectively against her chest, as she works at the clasps of her shoes with the other. She hasn’t looked at him since he’d held the front door open for her, but as she swings her feet up onto the couch her gaze flickers over to where he’s perched on the piano bench, one hand resting lightly on the dark wood. There’s nothing behind the look, no venom or curiosity. She’s been lulled by the familiar surroundings, the books and the warm deep hues, the smell of coffee and warm toast. She’s lost enough in it all to forget she hadn’t asked him here. She’s not scrutinizing or requesting; she’s checking in. He smiles at this and leaves her be, dusting fingertips over ivory keys.

She ignores him for a while, skimming through the book until she settles on something in the middle, one hand curled around her teacup, the other holding a spoonful of warm peaches poised over her stomach, the book propped against her knees. He watches the way the light plays against the panel of glass behind her, the red of the sofa reflecting in the inky black of the patio behind it.

“Do you play?” She sets down the spoon to turn the page then looks over at him again.

He considers for a moment and then shrugs. He does play, a fair bit in fact. He’s been playing as long as he remembers. It’s expressive, perhaps the only thing about him that is, but he’s not sure how to explain that to a spoiled rich kid who only thinks of music as another line item for her CV.

“Play something.” She keeps her voice pitched low. They’re not that far apart despite the fact that she’s seated snug against the back corner while the piano holds a more prominent spot toward the middle of the room. “It doesn’t have to be- I mean, if you want to.” She contends, fingers toying with the corners of her book. “It would be lovely if you played something, if you think, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

He smiles then, as much at her awkwardness as her eagerness, and shrugs again. The place is mostly empty and it’s not as if his playing is bad. He’s not going to disturb the handful of patrons seated by the front door.

He plays her a couple of things he figures she might recognize, and a couple of the jazzier pieces he’s heard seeping out from under Mr. McHale’s office door long after the sun had set. He plays a couple of slow sad pieces and then switches back to the classical melodies of his youth. It’s all autopilot by now, all of the earlier fiddling forgotten as he turns a bit to study her.

She’s not watching him. He had notice her gaze flutter away early on and he’d figured she’d gone back to her book. Whether or not she had, the book now lays forgotten. She has her eyes pressed closed, her cheek resting against the armrest, knees curled toward her chest. At first glance she appears to be sleeping, but then he sees her fingers tapping, the rhythmic rise and fall of her fingertips against her arm.

When he stops, she doesn’t move. She waits for him to continue and when it’s apparent he’s not going to she stiffens. There’s a real sense of disappointment as the bench scrapes against the floor and he rises, but she doesn’t move, her face still impassive. It’s not until he approaches her that her eyes flutter open, wide and dark.

“I forgot about my book.” She says, dazed a moment later as he guides her to her feet. “I meant to finish it. At least that part.” She looks over at him befuddled.

“We’ll pick you up a copy on the way home.” he promises. Mr. McHale was rather generous with Will’s discretionary funds, most of it went to MacKenzie anyway, but it was nice not to have to turn in receipts, particularly those that showed a smattering of book purchases at one am.

“I-“ she frowns this time and then manages to muster a halfhearted glare. “Why did you stop? I didn’t want you to.”

“Sometimes things happen when you don’t want them to.” He reminds her and is surprised when she laughs.

“Will you play some more later, please? I would like that. No one’s ever- Mother says music is a waste of time.”

“Your mother says a lot of things.”

“Daddy doesn’t agree.”

“Of course not.” Will doesn’t bother hiding the sarcasm from his voice. They both know Mrs. McHale is fond of rather ridiculous things, particularly when it comes to her daughter’s enrichment and education.

“She doesn’t want me to apply to university.”

The distress in her voice is enough to stop Will cold, the door he had been opening stopped from breaking his nose only by the toe of his shoe.

“You had me pick up copies of your CV from Staples last week.”

“I made you do it because I didn’t want anyone to see me.”

Made was a bit of an understatement. She had practically hurled herself out of her bedroom window in a fit of pique when he had suggested he had better things to do with his time than run errands for her. Thankfully, no one had been home at the time, but that hadn’t saved him from having to run out to Staples in the pouring rain.

He waits her out, surprised when she stands silently toeing the carpet. “Please don’t tell.”

“What’s to tell?” He pushes the door open again. “Let’s get you home.”


	2. Chapter 2

Days slip past and while MacKenzie hasn’t attempted to pull another stunt he’s still watching her closely. Although he often finds it hard to believe, he hasn’t known her long. He’d been hired by the McHales six weeks before she had returned from two years spent in Europe. Six weeks in the McHale residence would never be enough to prepare someone for the likes of MacKenzie. Two months later he was still finding she could keep him on his toes. She was sweet, even to her mother, but she had a temper, a fuse he seemed particularly prone to lighting.

“You’re an ass.” She throws at him tearfully, yanking the door to her walk in open with a glare meant to freeze him to the floor.

He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. He doesn’t blame her for her anger, being tossed around like an expensive puppet was prone to infuriate anyone, but he really wished she would stop shooting the messenger.

“Your mother says you only have to stay through dinner. I’ve already asked your father for the keys to the BMW. I’ll pick you up and we-“

He stops when she hurls an evening dress onto the floor. Whatever they were going to do, she wasn’t interested.

“I’m not going.”

He knows he should argue, but it’s rapidly becoming clear that this is well outside his realm of intervention. 

A pair of heels goes flying and then a duffle bag appears, a t-shirt and a pair of tennis shoes, a dark skirt.

“Would you like a getaway driver?”

“You have the keys don’t you?” She asks as she reappears momentarily from the closet.

He jiggles his pocket, the keys clattering as she wipes the back of her hand across her eyes. “I hope it’s not an imposition.” She says in a small wavering voice, fury suddenly spent. She isn’t quite looking at him, but he knows better than to cross her, even now. “I assume you have a couch. Daddy mentioned your place wasn’t very big, but you do have one don’t you? You must.”

He mustn’t anything, especially not when it came to MacKenzie, but he finds as he catches up, that he might just, if she asked him again.

He takes a step toward her slowly. The first time he’d approached her when she was like this she had almost clawed his eyes out. He wasn’t looking to have that happen again. He gets one hand on her shoulder and then takes hold of the other. His palms are resting there, lightly. He’s not holding on to her, just reminding her.

“MacKenzie,” he says softly, disconcerted by how easily she meets his eye. He can still remember a time when an age difference of five or six years meant that he would tower over anyone. She hardly has to lift her chin to meet his eye defiantly.

“I am not-“ She starts to reiterate but he cuts her off, soft, smooth, even.

“No you’re not. Dinner’s canceled by decree of my sanity. Your mother won’t like it but she’ll survive. You’re not staying at my place either. You won’t like that but you’ll survive too.”

Her bottom lip trembles, but she’s become too stubborn these last few weeks to turn away. “You’re just like them.”

She intends to hurt him. She’s not doing it out of malice. She wants him to understand. He’s the pretty golden boy in her father’s eyes and she hates that. He may work for her father but that doesn’t factor into this. He makes her look like a failure and while she wants to hate him for it she can’t.

“I heard you were shortlisted for the writing workshop.” He switches gears, leaving her to retrieve some of the clothes she had scattered around the room. “Congratulations.”

With his back to her, he can’t see her reaction, but whatever it is there’s no more theatrics, just the uneven sound of her breathing. “It was a beautiful piece.”

He hears her move now, not toward him but away, to the small desk in the corner of the room.

“You read it?”

“I figured that’s why you left it out.”

“Did I get it right?”

“Did you get what right?” He turns toward her with an armful of folded clothing, offering it to her when she hesitates.

“The war. Daddy mentioned you were there. He said you might not want to talk about it. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s all right. Sit?” He asks and she nods, setting the clothes on the desk and stepping toward him. He’s expecting her to sit on the bed so he takes a spot on the floor by the wall, surprised when she sits down beside him.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Which time?” He asks, bumping her shoulder, hoping for a smile.

Seemingly oblivious to the gesture, she stares thoughtfully across the room. “How long were you there?”

“I left straight out of high school. Nebraska wasn’t the kind of place I wanted to spend the rest of my life.” He watches her fingers tap against her thigh, counting. “Six years. Two tours. Ruined my elbow, almost shattered my kneecap.”

“I don’t want to be here for forever either. I thought if I got away, but I keep ending up back here. How did you?”

“I don’t have rich parents, or parents with long arms.” He says gently. “I don’t have anyone that loves me the way you do.” It’s the wrong thing to say, but he isn’t wrong and they both know that. “I left and I didn’t come back. You could do that too.”

“It would kill Daddy.”

“That’s the problem with having people who love you, who you love.” He adds when she glances over at him.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Hindsight is like that.” He says and she sighs.

“Can you really cancel dinner?”

“Your father will if you keep throwing things.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still no endgame in sight but here's a few extra bits and pieces.

He had seen the notice, had know the Union would be in the city for the weekend long before she‘d emailed him to tell him she’d be back in town. He’d known she’d be in town, but he hadn’t expected her to show up here.

“Will,” she beams, tired and obviously jetlagged. “I should have called. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” He’s hesitant to let her through the door but he can’t leave her standing in the hall, can’t leave her lingering, so he steps back, inviting her in before a look of disappointment can creep across her face.

He hasn’t seen her since she’d left for England a year and a half ago. They hadn't kept in touch so much as he’d been keeping tabs on her, but she did email him from time to time, something she’d been doing more frequently since her father had gotten sick and Will had taken over most of his personal correspondence.

She’s taller now, he thinks at first, taller, but not, he realizes as she steps closer. She holds herself straighter, more firmly: the perfect posture her mother had always wanted for her. There’s an air of confidence about her now, and her clothes, the same expensive clothes she’s always worn, seem suddenly to fit her. They no longer hang off her but embrace her. He smiles and she smiles back.

“My, you’ve grown.” He teases and she laughs.

“I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“You never were.” He intends it as a compliment, but her smile falters. “Does Daddy know I’m here?”

“Not unless you told him.” Will raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment any further. If she’d emailed him and not her father he wasn’t going to second guess that, although he thinks she might be.

“Oh.” She seems pleased if a bit uncertain.

“I wasn’t even going to come. Most of the others haven't been to New York. I knew someone would take my seat, but my adviser,” she groans and throws herself onto his couch without waiting for permission. “The other girls, we’re sharing a room, they’re out with the guys seeing the sights, whining I’m sure because they can’t get into the bars. I told them I was going home. Stupid, I know, but they didn’t bat an eye.”

“And now you’re here.”

“Yeah.” She peers over at him. “Is that ok?”

He shrugs. It was going to have to be. There was no way he could dissuade her from staying for however long she saw fit, not without her informing her father that he’d been ungracious, and he’s seen her spin enough stories to know he wasn’t guaranteed to come out looking like a knight. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t smooth over, explain, but he knew the conference was only running for the weekend, and he doubted the school was going to be paying to put them up any longer than that, particularly not in the middle of the term.

“Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours. Don’t answer my phone. The computer’s password protected so don’t bother. No snooping. I’ll make you breakfast but if you’re here any longer than that you’re on your own. I expect you to spend your days at the conference. I don’t want any calls saying you’ve wandered off or gotten yourself into trouble. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“MacKenzie.”

“I’m behaving. Going to behave. Everyone knows where I am. They’re expecting me at eight. I won’t be any trouble. I promise.”

He isn’t convinced in the slightest, but he steps forward and sets her bag next to the couch. “How did registration go this afternoon?”


	4. Chapter 4

“MacKenzie.” He’s more surprised than the last time she’d shown up at his door, and less pleased in a way that he knows she’s noticed, because he knows for a fact she isn’t supposed to be here and that her parents, in particular, don’t have a clue.

“Hi, Will.” She leans on her suitcase and grins at him. “Can I come in?”

“You’re supposed to be in DC.”

“I can explain.”

“All right.”

“Inside?”

“Right there.” 

She pouts at him, calculating he knows, although it’s harder to see now, harder to detect. She’s grown up in the last couple of years, gotten better at handling her temper. Good for him, bad for him; she wasn’t going to start screaming at him before dissolving into tears, but it made her harder to read. He’d have to be more careful.

“My apartment isn’t available until next month.”

“You’ve been in DC for weeks.”

“The girls don’t like me. They think I’m a snob.”

“You couldn’t find another place?”

“I’d still have to work with them.” She’s giving him her ‘pity me’ look, so he lets her think it’s working, while he files the information away, trying to decide the best way to inform the McHales that their daughter had quit her job because some spoiled princess had insinuated she lacked some amount of journalistic integrity in a way that MacKenzie found incomprehensible.

“Do your—”

“No and you can’t tell them. It’s only for a couple of weeks. Promise me.”

“MacKenzie.”

“I can use the time to work on my thesis. I can look into grad programs. I don’t mind the couch. It’s only two weeks. Please, Will. I clean up after myself. I know I can’t cook but I can heat stuff up, and I don’t mind doing the dishes. I won’t touch any of your stuff or answer your phone or anything like that. I promise. I just need a place to stay.”

“This isn’t—”

“Please. If I go home Daddy will be sad when I leave and Mother will spend the entire time trying to talk me into staying. I won’t be able to get any work done. She’ll make me go to brunch with her friends and I won’t be able to work on applications. Please.”

He knew it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought, but he also knew that she was right, she’d get more work done if she stayed here where it would be quiet all day while he was at work, and it wasn’t as if he could stand here all afternoon arguing. He had to get back into the city and pick up Mr. McHale in twenty minutes.

“You can stay until tonight. We’ll talk about this after dinner. If I let you stay, you leave when I tell you to no questions asked. And I won’t say anything to your parents, not yet. They deserve to hear it from you.”

She nods in agreement and he sighs, resigning himself. “I should be back by six. If I’m any later than that I’ll text your cell. Same rules as last time. I want a progress report after dinner. You can’t sit around watching TV all afternoon.”

*

It’s been two weeks. He’d asked her once when her lease was starting but she’d been vague, intentionally so in a way that let him know he wasn’t going to like the answer when it finally came out.

“I sent in another application,” she tells him sopping up the last of the pasta sauce on her plate with a slice of bread.

“Last one?”

“Yeah. I sent an email to my advisor to let him know. I also sent him a copy of my updated outline. I know it doesn’t look like much but I think this way I’ll have a cleaner argument.”

“Do you have a timetable set up?”

“Yeah,” she looks at him. _Of course_ the look says and he sighs. 

“MacKenzie.”

“It’s done. I swear.” She tries to head him off but he isn’t buying it.

“What aren’t I going to like?”

“I don’t— I’m not going back to DC.”

He groans. “Explain.”

“I emailed the head of the program last week. I had a couple of ideas I thought he might like and I suggested if he was interested in having me follow up it might be better if I stayed here where I have access to more of the—”

“I’m assuming that since you’ve waited to tell me this you still haven’t spoken to your parents?”

“Will.”

She’s clearly annoyed with him, like what he’s asking for is a huge imposition. “You don’t have to go see them. You don’t have to tell them where you’re staying, but you can’t keep lying to them about being in DC. If something happens—”

“I never told them I was in DC.” She’s exasperated enough that she doesn’t realize at first that what she’s said isn’t better than the alternative he’d suggested. He watches the realization dawn on her, watches her wince. “I told them I was staying in— they think I’m in Cambridge. I told them I’d fly home for Daddy’s birthday at the end of the summer.”

“Things are making much more sense now.”

“Will,” she’s pleading with him. She knows she isn’t going to like whatever he’s going to say. They’ve been through this too many times for him to listen.

“You can call them tonight or in the morning, but if you haven’t spoken to them by tomorrow afternoon I’m letting them know that you’ve been staying with me and that you’ll be moving back in with them.”

“You can’t!” She’s on her feet, loud and a little tearful. “You can’t do that.”

“If you want to lie, that’s fine.” He tells her placidly, “but as long as you’re staying here, you’re going to pay the consequences for those lies.”

*

“MacKenzie called you.” He offers as Mr. McHale slides into the passenger seat the next morning with a bemused look.

“She had quite a lot to say about you. She stopped short of anything truly libelous, but she certainly gave me an earful. She had the gall to suggest I hire better employees.” He chuckles with a quick shake of his head. “You certainly know how to rile her up.”

“At least she’s talking to someone.” Will turns the key over and pulls around the drive before signalling and turning out onto the road, heading toward the city. MacKenzie hadn’t said a word to him after dinner the night before and that morning she‘d hardly even looked at him, hiding away in the bathroom until he requested she vacate the space so he wouldn’t be late for work.

“I can’t say she’s much inclined to continue speaking to me right now. I told her to call her mother and let her know she’ll be arriving for Sunday dinner.”

Will snorts. “You could’ve gone easy on her.”

“I might have.” Mr. McHale pauses to pull his phone from his pocket and check the time. “She asked me to put her up in a hotel. I told her we had a spare room and if that didn’t suit her she’d been doing fine finding her own accommodation.”

“She had a thing or two to say about that.”

“She lost her temper a bit. You know I can’t abide that.”

“She’s a good kid.”

“She’s a handful.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” Will points out, chuckling when Mr. McHale laughs.

*

“I hate you.”

He figures she’s been waiting all day to say that to someone so he doesn’t reply, lets her keep glaring at him as he toes off his shoes.

“I picked you up a sandwich.” He drops the bag on the counter and turns to pull a couple of plates, a pair of glasses from the cupboard.

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’ll be in the fridge then.”

“I hate you.” She tries again, but it’s lacking the hostile venom the first attempt had held so he shrugs it off.

“I’m expecting a progress report within the next hour.”

“You—” he sees her bite her tongue, watches her press her lips into a thin line to try and stop the flush of tears prickling in her eyes.

“Go and wash your face.” He tells her firmly. “I’ll set the table and then you can tell me what you did today other than try and find a way to get me fired.”

“I—”

“I know. I heard you the first two times. Go get cleaned up and we’ll have dinner.”


End file.
